


A Calling

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Falconry, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Canon, Stannis Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Stannis seeks something that is uniquely his.





	A Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Stannis Week: _pre-siege of Storm's End_

There was nothing Stannis was good at.

Oh, there were plenty of things he was good at, Maester Cressen said, but Stannis didn't mean lessons. Just because he could remember dates from history or do sums quickly didn't say anything meaningful about him. It wasn't the same as Robert being good at sparring. Already, men were saying Robert would a fearsome opponent at tourneys when they were older. They never said that about Stannis, even though he always did everything correctly. Ser Gawen Wylde said it was because Stannis never took chances, but Stannis knew a man must never take chances with live steel.

It wasn't that Stannis longed for renown. It just would have been nice for there to be something that was all his own, something that would make people think of Stannis when it was referenced. This could not be sums. Everyone could do sums. 

Nor could it be sailing. Stannis loved the sea, but he was meant for greater things than being a mere captain.

He knew it was unbecoming to be so maudlin, but he didn't care. It was the sort of thing that made being younger so uniquely upsetting. 

And so, Stannis sought to avoid Robert by going to the one place where no one would compare him to Robert.

He went to the mews.

Despite the large number of birds within, the mews were always pleasantly quiet with the faint smell of sand. Sunlight fell in stripes through the wooden slats and he slowed his pace, examining each perch's occupant in turn. They were all known to him, and he had to greet each one, give each bird its due.

He was halfway down the line before he realized he wasn't alone. 

"Shh, girl, I just want to see them." Mother shifted her white gyrfalcon, Sea Star, to check her nest. Stannis watched raptly as, satisfied with the eggs, Mother replaced the bird.

She straightened up and removed her gloves. That was when she noticed Stannis. 

She smiled. "I thought I might see you in here."

"I like it in here," he said, embarrassed that his tendency had been noticed, even if it was by Mother. 

"So do I." Mother smoothed his hair. "And I like to know that I made an impression on at least one of my sons."

Stannis' chest swelled with a sudden pride at being distinguished from Robert in some fashion. "I know how to act around the birds." 

"You do." They stopped in front of another perch, where an old kestrel sat. "Hello, Turtle," Mother chirped gently. She scratched under his chin and he fluttered his wings happily. "Do you want to let Stannis hold you?"

Stannis looked up in surprise. He knew Turtle was older even than him, that Mother had had him since she was a girl on Estermont. 

"You can," Mother said to him. "Turtle's gentle. All he longs for is a sunny perch and prey that's easy to kill." She slipped one of her gloves onto Stannis' hand. "Just hold still." 

Stannis kept his arm straight as steel as Mother transferred Turtle to his gloved arm. The bird opened his eyes and blinked once at Stannis before closing them again. 

"But he can't hunt, can he?" Stannis asked in a hushed voice.

"Does it matter?" Mother stroked Turtle's head. "He served me well over the years. Remember that when you are a man grown, Stannis. It is the measure of a man—or woman—how he rewards loyalty. I could not ignore the bird who brought me my first game in his old age."

"Of course not." Stannis gingerly reached out with his other hand to pet Turtle's head. The old bird looked positively gleeful from the attention. 

"That is why I feed him for he cannot catch his own meals." Mother took a dead mouse from her pail and fed it to Turtle, who snapped it up gratefully. 

"Have you ever done this with Robert?" he suddenly asked.

"No," Mother said thoughtfully. "I don't think Robert would like it. He prefers other pursuits."

Stannis knew Robert would be too loud; he would disturb the peace of the mews and bother an old bird like Turtle. He also could not hold still as long as Stannis could.

"Will you take me hawking, Mother? One day?"

She smiled as she gingerly replaced Turtle on his perch. "I think that sounds like a grand idea. It will have to be one day soon." She mussed his hair with a hand that smelled of dust, sand, and feathers. "If you are interested in birds, Stannis, I could not be prouder to teach you."

 _And only me_ , thought Stannis, feeling his heart swell once more. Robert would surely learn hawking—perhaps from Father—but no one quite had Mother's touch with the birds, and Stannis vowed he would strive to do her proud.


End file.
